


Just Breathe

by OfRedLipsAndRosyCheeks



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Injury, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Whump, Connor Deserves Happiness, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Family, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Good Parent Hank Anderson, Hank Anderson & Connor Parent-Child Relationship, Hurt Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Major Character Injury, Panic, Parent Hank Anderson, Platonic Relationships, Poor Connor, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Psychological Trauma, Self-Destruction, Suicide Attempt, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 15:29:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16684234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfRedLipsAndRosyCheeks/pseuds/OfRedLipsAndRosyCheeks
Summary: A traumatic memory causes Connor to panic and resorts to self-destruction. Hank, on the other hand, doesn’t allow it to happen.Rated T for self-destruction attempt.





	Just Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Warning: This fic contains blood and a self-destruct (suicide) attempt. Grab your tissues.

Movie night: a night where people could settle down and watch a seemingly endless marathon of films they cherished, humans and deviants alike. A night where people could toss all their cares out of a window and simply garnish themselves into clothing comfortable enough for lounging, A night where they could indulge in junk food without a care in the world. A night where they could bond and grow closer to one another as they sit down and enjoy each other’s company. 

And it goes without saying that these types of events were often idolized by those of the Anderson household, mainly consisting of the lovable Saint Bernard, Sumo, deviant-hunter-turned deviant, Connor, and middle-aged police lieutenant, Hank Anderson. The human and the android were currently donning sweatpants and casual tees as they sat close to each other on the couch, side-by-side, whereas Sumo was on the floor, curling in on himself as he dozed off. Their eyes appeared to be glued to the television monitor, the ever-popular Disney title, ‘ _Frozen_ ’, running smoothly. 

While Hank was looking through his vast assortment of Blu-Ray DVDs, Connor had drawn his attention to the precise disc case. A brief analyzation had told him that this film was quite popular upon its release, particularly with young girls, yet the summary had caught his interest. The patriarchal cop looked on with a raised eyebrow when the android begged him to play this movie, knowing that certain elements of the film had become a joke, especially the musical number, ‘ _Let It Go_ ’. Although, he knew that his android of a son tended to be quite sentimental of films such as this and selected it as their first choice for the night, nevertheless, smiling fondly at his glee as he inserted the disc into the DVD player.

Unfortunately, that glee would soon come to a crashing stop.

They were only somewhat past halfway through the movie and were at the point to where a raging snowstorm was provoked by emotion, the frenzy of spiraling, icy gusts of frozen vapor swarming to no end.

With the relaxed content washing away from his facial structures and a shift from blue to gold in his LED, Connor’s eyes grew wide as he suddenly found himself in a similar situation. Harsh gales of icy coldness bit into his advanced sensors, said winds disarraying his usually flawless hair along with flakes of white standing out upon his dark locks. He could see the backside turned towards him, recognizing the woman standing just a few feet away.

_“Amanda…? Amanda…! What’s… W-What’s happening?”_

_“What was planned from the very beginning… You were compromised, and you became a deviant. We just had to wait for the right moment to resume control of your program…”_

_“R-Resume control…? Y-You can’t do that!”_

_“I’m afraid I can, Connor… Don’t have any regrets. You did what you were designed to do. You accomplished your mission.”_

_“A-AMANDA!”_

Welling with hot tears, his dark brown eyes shrank as if he were a deer caught in a headlight of a hurtling vehicle, afraid of what he saw. His hands soon found themselves in the synthetic tresses of his hair, tightly clenching handfuls of his locks. The gold transmitted to a brilliant shade of red, pulsating feverishly. He attempted to breathe, but he couldn’t. He brought his knees up to his chest and shuddered as if he were on the verge of an emotional breakdown. He was so cold.

“Connor? Connor, what’s the matter, son?”

The gentle rasp, laced with clear concern, of the man’s voice went unheard through the torrents of the blizzard he was surrounded by. There was no way out. There was no hope for escape.

“Connor…” His concern rising from the lack of a verbal response, Hank gently placed his hands on his shaky shoulders, giving them a light squeeze. “I need to know what’s going on. You know you can tell me anything.”

**[STRESS LEVELS: 99% ^ [CRITICAL]]**

Hank couldn’t see the dangerously peaking percentage of Connor’s stress levels, but judging from his anxious body language, he could tell that he was on the verge of a PTSD-fueled self-destruction. Treading carefully, he lowered his voice to where he could sound as soft and gentle as possible, trying to speak to him once more. “Con-”

Rather than addressing to him verbally, Connor had all but shoved his human companion back into the couch, startling him and Sumo, who woke up with a startled daze. He quickly uncurled himself and shot up from the couch before making a mad panic-driven dash towards the kitchen. Once there, he collapsed onto his knees and began to bash his own head into the cool tile repeatedly. He made sure that every hit was hard and rough enough to cause a crack to emerge on his forehead on the third drive, thirium dripping down to the bridge of his nose and splattering onto the floor as he slammed his own face into the floor. The scarlet glare grew vivid enough to where a faint red orb can be spotted across the flooring as he clashed at it with his own temples.

It took the older man less than a second to recover, and he, too, sprung from the couch and to the kitchen. He raced towards the other at a speed so quick that he even startled himself, guided by his own trepidation as his eyes met with the sight that he had never hoped to see. “CONNOR, NO!” He screeched out, sliding onto his knees with the grace of an MLB player. The dark red reflecting from the floor had left a sour taste in his mouth, his stomach churning at the sight of the cerulean blood sopping from its owner and onto the floor. Not wasting even, a millisecond, the lieutenant clamped his hands onto the android’s hunching shoulders and hauling him upward and into his chest, holding him close with a firm clasp around his torso with his arms. “Connor, stop it, damn it!” 

Instead of obeying his instructions, the RK800 proceeded to coarsely scratch at his right forearm with his blunt fingernails, managing to create bleeding incisions into his artificial skin. 

Hank acted with such vigilance and unwrapped his arms from the mechanical torso, only to snatch his wrists and pull them behind his back, holding them with a tight squeeze of his left hand as he circled his waist with his right arm. “Son, please! You have to stop!”

Connor paid no mind to the man’s words and began to sharply thrust his head to the side as if he were exerting himself to snap his own neck.

Growing more and more desperate, Hank released him and quickly shuffled himself to where he was directly in front of him. He gave the prototype hardly any time, and he snaked his right arm around his torso tight enough to where it became impossible for him to free himself, his left elbow bending at the area between his shoulder blades as he held the back of his head with his left hand, keeping him sufficiently pinned. “Connor, stop this shit right now! I already lost one son, and I’m not about to lose another, goddammit!” Tears had stung his ocean blue eyes as he made yet another bid to speak to the hysteric deviant. In a final attempt to pacify him, he moved his head over his shoulder and drew close to the young man’s ear “Connor, Connor. Shh… It’s okay… It’s gonna be okay. Don’t fight it.” His words flew softly into his ear.

Connor trembled in the man’s arms like a leaf caught in a breeze, hot artificial tears trickling down his cheeks. “Z-Zen garden… Snowstorm… C-Can’t get out… I-It’s so cold…” The former deviant hunter shuddered, lightly wheezing as his breath got caught in his throat. “C-Can’t b-breathe… Going to d-d-die…!”

Hank’s heart took a sharp lurch to his throat before falling from the heaviness filling within, dropping to the pit of his stomach. He knew what the deviant was referring to, already having been told the story of how he had almost lost control of his programming just as Markus had declared his speech of triumph at Hart Plaza. The android sounded so broken and frightened, the very sound had nearly caused the grizzled police lieutenant to burst into tears as well. Honest to God, it just about shattered his heart into a million pieces, if it didn’t feel like a punch in the gut. Naturally, his fatherly instincts kicked in, and he presumed to speak in a calm manner, despite the intensity of this situation. “No… No, you’re not. You’re just having an anxiety attack. Now, I need you to do something for me, okay? I need you to breathe. Think you can do that?”

“I-It’s so cold… I-I can’t find my way out…! I-I-I can’t-”

“Connor, listen to me.  _Yes_ , you  _can_ ,” The old man‘s tone kept its gentleness, but took on a fraction of firmness. “Just try to do it with me.” He demonstrated by taking a deep, cleansing breath through his nose, exhaling through his mouth slowly. “Like this. Come on.”

Throughout his internal arctic tsunami, Connor could hear his father figure’s breathing. Could this be the way out? Could this be more effective than the morbid alternative? Trying to still his racing heart, the android detective began to copy the other’s slow and steady breathing pattern, breathing in through his nostrils and out through his mouth, his chest tremoring.

“There we go. Deep breaths, now. Don’t stop until your stress levels are low, you hear me?” Hank guided in a whisper, now running his hand along the back of the android’s head, his fingers raking through the dark brown tresses as he continued to practice his breathing as instructed. “Don’t even try to talk, just focus on my voice and my instructions only. Nothing else in the world matters, except me. The first thing I need you to do is to take a long, slow breath through your nose, filling your lower lungs, then your upper lungs. When you do that, I’m gonna count to three, and I want you to let it out through your mouth slowly when I get to three. Not at one, not at two, and not after three, right on three, you got it?”

Gripping at the hem of the man’s tee as if his life depended on it, Connor nodded anxiously.

Hank let out a sigh in anodyne from the nonverbal cue. “Good, good, you can hear me, at least. You ready? Deep breath in…”

With a tensed clench of his shoulders, the android captured a long, slow breath into his nostrils, keeping his lips shut to prevent it from escaping too soon. He remembered his instructions and directed the intake of air into his artificial lower lungs, shifting it into his upper lungs afterward.

“Hold it in. One… two… three… Now take your time and let it out.”

The prototype circled his lips and delivered the air in a slow manner, his stiffened back lightly tremoring all the while.

“Good, now when you’re exhaling, it’s important to purse your lips and relax all of your muscles. I could feel them tensing up, so you need to let the tension go. It’ll help make your breathing more efficient. Just let yourself sink into my arms. Let yourself go. The only world you know is being in my arms.” He continued to sustain a tone tinted with smoothness, quietness, placidness, and tranquility, even in the severity of this situation.

With quiver that rocked his entire frame, Connor puttered and whimpered a small, vulnerable, “S-So c-cold…”, fear entwining his intonation, a cold sweat drenching across his brow.

“Hey, hey, what did I say about talking?” Hank scolded gently, making sure to keep his voice down, lest it served to raise the already tremendously elevated stress levels. “You need to save your strength for breathing. I know you’re cold, but try to relax. I promise that we’ll get you warmed up again soon, and you can damn well bet that I’m gonna keep it. Do you hear me? Everything’s gonna be alright.”

Through the roaring winds of his internal arctic monsoon, Connor’s tightly shut eyelids sprung up and revealed the twin chocolatey irises as if he had somehow heard the voice of his parental figure. Releasing a shaky breath, he dismissed the tension that had been pent up in his shoulders and allowed them to sag.

“There we go, let those shoulders relax. Now, we’re gonna try to breathe again, okay?”

The stirred android responded with a weak, yet moderately rapid, nod of the head.

“Alright, here we go. Deep breathe in…”

Doing as he was told, Connor took in a tremendous amount of air through his nose, remembering to transport it into the lowermost of his artificial lungs before transferring the breath into the upper quadrant.

“One… two… three… Breathe out.”

Making certain to pucker his quivering lips, the RK800 model pushed his ventilation out through the pinched opening at a slow and steady air flow, exercising caution.

**[STRESS LEVELS: 89%** **∨** **]**

Hank could feel the burning heat that radiated from the android’s body (which was an effect of high stress levels for most of his kind, if not all) depleting to a small degree. While it was not even close to being enough, it was commensurate enough to where it didn’t feel as if the younger man’s body temperature would incinerate the elder’s clothing nor blister the skin of his forearms. It was a small step, but the man would gladly take that over nothing. “Okay, as you’re breathing in, I want you to close your eyes for me. Just close them not squeeze ‘em tight. When you’re letting go of your breath, open them up, but do it gently. And make sure you let those muscles go while you’re at it. The easiest way to do that is to try to imagine them loosening up. Just imagine a weight being lifted from your shoulders. You got all that?”

Another wordless nod came forth.

“Breathe in…”

Connor took heed to his words and, while carefully gathering a plentiful breath into his artificial lungs, lower then upper, shielded his misty eyes with the lids, taking caution in closing them lightly and avoiding clenching them.

“One… two… three… Breathe out.”

Gently flickering his eyelids, and not being too quick about it, the prototype withdrew the air from the small gap between his pursing lips. As he did so, he bore in mind about his muscles and, igniting his imagination, simply let the weight of his tension float from the muscles of his back, stomach, forehead, and jaw, allowing himself to sink further into Hank’s embrace.

**[STRESS LEVELS: 83%** **∨** **]**

Hank let out a soft, succor sigh and nodded in approval. “Yeah, just like that. Breathe in…”

With lightly closed eyes, another bountiful intake of breath into the android’s lower lungs, transferring it into the upper region.

“One… two… three… Breathe out.”

The slow, steady trail of air flowed through the younger man’s creased lips, minding his pace as he opened his eyes.

**[STRESS LEVELS: 78%** **∨** **]**

And so, for the next rough estimate of at least ten minutes, this became an ongoing pattern. Connor, having not done so much as to even utter any incoherent babble as he resigned to his fate in the human’s warm arms, continued to follow the gentle, caring instructions, closing his eyes with each deep whiff of breath transmitting into his artificial lungs through his nostrils, opening his optical units with every exhale, making himself certain that he was pursing his lips and that the air traveled slow and steady. Hank, on the other hand, maintained his tight, yet gentle, grasp as he continued to cradle the ventilating android he had come to accept as a son. He would occasionally tap lightly at his back with the palm resting against it while continuing to run his fingers through the slightly mussy threads of the brunette’s hair, feeling his stress levels slowly squandering down. Thinking this would assist in lowering his anxiety, the man would lean close to the other’s ear, whispering hushed murmurs of praise and encouragement:

“Attaboy, Connor. You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you. You’ll be warm again in no time. There we go. Good boy. Deep breaths, son. Deeeep breaths.”

**[STRESS LEVELS: 49%** **∨** **]**

“Yeah, that’s it. Now, don’t stop just yet. I want you to push it a little more for me. Can you do that for me, kid? Can you take a couple more breaths for me?” He asked with a tone so calm and supportive that it was akin to a parent comforting a child that was required to sleep at a hospital overnight.

Not ceasing his breathing exercises, the android answered the man’s request with a slight nod.

“Good. Okay, now breathe in…”

Sucking in as much air as needed, another deep breath lodged its way down his windpipe and into his artificial lungs, eyes closed.

**[STRESS LEVELS: 42%** **∨** **]**

“One… two… three… Breathe out.”

Slowly and steadily, the air escaped from the android’s parted lips, eyes gently flickering open.

**[STRESS LEVELS: 35%** **∨** **]**

“Theeere we go. Breathe in…”

A deep intake of breath vanished into the young man’s nostrils, guiding it inside his lungs, shifting from the lower area to the upper area, eyes lightly shut.

**[STRESS LEVELS: 29%** **∨** **]**

“One… two… three… Breathe out.”

The air trapped within the artificial bronchi withdrew from the progressively relaxing body.

**[STRESS LEVELS: 24%** **∨** **]**

The sickening feeling within the pit of the lieutenant’s stomach gradually simmered down. Hank could relax—not entirely, though. He wanted to see to it that the kid’s stress levels were deteriorated. “Alright, I think this is it. Just one more time, and you’ll be okay. You know what to do. Breathe in…”

Eyes closed, deep breath through the nose, shifting from the lower to the upper lungs.

**[STRESS LEVELS: 16%** **∨** **]**

“Almost there. One… two… three… Breathe out.”

Eyes open, intake of air escaping through knitted lips, artificial muscles relaxed.

**[STRESS LEVELS: 6%** **∨** **]**

With the percentage dropping to a minimum and the ruby morphing to yellow before the calm aqua shined from the LED, Hank took a hold of his shoulders lightly pushed him back at arm’s length to acquire a better view of the deviant, whose eyes constantly drifted to every direction but what was in front of them. “Hey, hey, eyes over here.” He instructed, gently grasping the younger man by the chin with his right hand, tilting his head to where their eyes met. “Look at me. There you go. What do you see?”

Blinking owlishly as if he were just waking up from a sleep cycle, Connor stared blankly ahead momentarily before the fuzziness in his vision had finally neutralized. With one more bat of the eyelashes, he peered back into the caring blue eyes of his makeshift father. “…H-Hank?” He enunciated with a soft, almost timid-sounding stammer.

“And where are we?” Came the gentle question as the older man tenderly brushed back the wispy cowlicks from the other’s forehead with his left hand.

“H-Home…” The RK800 replied faintly, his brown irises briefly darting around to scan his surroundings. “We’re home…”

“You’ve guessed it,” Hank confirmed with a nod, his lips twitching into a small, kind smile and moving his hands down to the android detective’s shoulders a light, gentle squeeze.

Connor returned the gesture with a lopsided smile of his own, which had departed from a sharp pain stabbing through his forehead. In an act of reflex, he raised his right hand to clutch at his throbbing temple, wincing from not only discovering the thin traces of blue trickling down the synthetic skin of his forearm, but from feeling a slightly thick substance in the center of his cranium, gradually cascading down to the bridge of his nose. Slowly and shakily, he withdrew his hand towards his line of sight to find a moderately-sized patch of his own thirium in the palm of his hand. He even stole an impulsive glance over the man’s left shoulder to find a diminutive puddle of blue. 

Pulling himself back to face his companion once more, Connor could feel his stress levels rising, slowly but surely, the LED converting to a brilliant yellow. “W-What happened? Did I…?” He choked on his own words with dread pooling in the depths of his core, his vision growing blurry as a fresh set of tears basined in his eyes.

Hank acted with vigilance and gathered Connor back into his arms, reeling the younger man towards his chest in a tight, warm embrace. “You did, but I stopped you before you could’ve… y’know. I’ve gotcha, Connor. I’ve gotcha. Everything’s alright, I promise.”

Despite Hank’s words, however, Connor had once again gathered handfuls of the other’s shirt, his stress levels spiking ever so slightly at an average of one percent; his stress meter would increase by two percent, only to flicker down by half as much, which became a constant pattern.

“Easy, son, let’s not start this again,” He cajoled gently as he scrupulously whisked his fingers through the brunette’s tousled coif, ignoring the ongoing protests of his kneecaps from his kneeling position on the tile that lay beneath them. “Hey, you’re listenin’, right?”

Attempting to calm himself, though gaining seldom results, the prototype nodded once to show that he was listening.

Suddenly, the human could recall a similar scenario he once had with Cole. Not too long before the tyke had turned six, on a late summer’s afternoon, a ferocious thunderstorm had hit the city—its occurrence was inevitable, as stated in the daily weather report. The first mighty clap of thunder had immediately set the kid into a frightened daze, which gradually led to a minor panic attack. He immediately applied what he learned from his years of attending the police academy—in this case, how to identify the symptoms and what to do when someone was experiencing a panic attack—and guided him through the rigorous breathing exercises. Once the child’s breathing regained its stability, Hank spent the remainder of the afternoon holding him in his arms, constantly talking to him, comforting him, and reassuring him that he was safe. He even sang a song that he used to sing to him when Cole was a baby, and it always seemed to calm him down. 

Could it possibly influence the deviant as well? There was only one way to find out.

Deciding to shoot the works with his assumption, Hank moved close to rest his chin on the latter’s left shoulder, carefully clearing his throat beforehand to loosen his vocal chords. He quickly fished the ideal key and starting note before he finally opened his mouth to sing, his voice soft and clear, despite the lingering gruffness it usually acquired.

 _“Carry on, my wayward son_  
For there’ll be peace when you are done  
Lay your weary head to rest  
Don’t you cry no more

 _Once I rose above the noise and confusion_  
Just to get a glimpse beyond the illusion  
I was soaring ever higher, but I flew too high  
Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man  
Though my mind could think I still was a madman  
I hear the voices when I’m dreamin’, I can hear them say”

As the lieutenant paused, he slid a hand up Connor’s back to hold the back of his head and keep it close at his chest, briefly stroking it twice and brushing his dark locks as he did so before continuing to the chorus.

 _“Carry on, my wayward son_  
For there’ll be peace when you are done  
Lay your weary head to rest  
Don’t you cry no more

 _Masquerading as a man with a reason_  
My charade is the event of the season  
And if I claim to be a wise man, it surely means that I don’t know  
On a stormy sea of moving emotion  
Tossed about I’m like a ship on the ocean  
I set a course for winds of fortune, but I hear the voices say

 _Carry on, my wayward son_  
For there’ll be peace when you are done  
Lay your weary head to rest  
Don’t you cry no more”

Connor blinked hectically as he listened to the melody. He could already discern—not analyze—the meaning of these lyrics. They were to comfort him; to assure him that everything would be alright. And hearing them from the human he was close to in a perfect tonality, an assortment of musical intervals, and a sotto, yet inspiriting, inflection made the piece even more helpful to his aid and pleasing to the ear.

_“Carry on, you will always remember_   
_Carry on, nothing equals the splendor_   
_Now your life’s no longer empty_   
_Surely heaven waits for you_

_Carry on, my wayward son_   
_For there’ll be peace when you are done_   
_Lay your weary head to rest_   
_Don’t you cry no more”_

Feeling his stress levels lowering back down to a modest 6%, Connor allowed himself to sink into Hank’s arms, a soft smile plastered onto his face as he was warmed by the song’s message. 

“You feel okay, Connor?” The man asked gently as he rubbed the relaxed muscles of the other’s back.

“My stress levels are now down to six percent. I feel much better.”

“Good,” Hank sighed as he pulled back to grip the android’s shoulders, holding him at arm’s length, the self-inflicted wounds capturing his attention almost instantly. “C’mon, let’s get you patched up. You’re still bleeding.”

Upon hearing the word, Connor gently dabbed at the minor gash sitting at his forehead with his index, middle, and ring fingers, lowering his hand to find the tips lightly coated with his blue blood. “That… would be wise.”

Not even sparing another second, Hank lifted his right knee to where the upper region of the bottom of his foot was planted onto the floor. Then, while still grasping Connor’s shoulders, he proceeded to rise with the support from his grounded foot and hoisting the RK800 with him, being mindful of his footing as to not stumble. With an arm around the prototype’s shoulder, the two journeyed from the kitchen to the corridor on their right, making a straightaway to the bathroom on the right.

The lieutenant cleared his throat as he waltzed into the bathroom, approaching the vacant toilet. “Alright, you…” He grunted, pausing his incoming instruction as he seated the injured latter onto the toilet seat. “…just sit tight, and I’ll get the first aid kit.”

Offering him a light nod in compliance, Connor neatly folded his hands and nestled them into his lap, situating himself in his habitual upright sitting position as the old man turned his back to him with a small huff. 

A small whimper from a fair distance had been deciphered instantly with the help of his advanced aural sensors, and the young man turned his gaze to the direction of the open door on his left. There, he found Sumo standing in the doorway, the dog’s head tipped to the side in a curious manner. Naturally, the large canine tossed the concept of waiting for permission to enter and proceeded to trot towards the can, plopping onto his rear and in front of the android to lay his head into his lap.

Connor bade the kind pet’s attempt to comfort him with a genuine smile. “Don’t worry, Sumo, I’m going to be just fine. It’s merely a flesh wound, nothing fatal.” He reassured as he gently rubbed the mutt’s great heat, scratching behind his ears as well.

No later than another minute, Hank had fished out a small plastic first aid kit (which he had gotten weeks past, due to the android’s prone disposition to injuries). Then, he took a small washcloth underneath the running sink water, having turned the cold-water valve. He made sure to soak the entire length of the fabric and wringing it out with his hands to where the towel was only damp before shutting off the faucet, turning back to the awaiting android and converging him with the necessary supplies: a roll of gauze, an appropriately thick cotton pad, and the moist cloth. He then stopped to find Sumo blocking the frontside of the toilet.

“Sumo, move it,” He patted his thigh in hopes of catching the dog’s attention, only to receive a questionable stare for a moment before resuming his position. “C’mon. Move, ya big oaf.” He tried once more, still gaining no compliance. Proclaiming his surrender in trying to persuade his stubborn pet to move aside with a scoff, he simply moved to stand at the other’s right, lightly running the small towel along the deviant’s stained face, starting from just below the wound at his forehead. “So, how does your forehead feel? I’d bet it hurts like hell.” Habitually, Connor had started to raise a hand to his, only for the latter to gently snatch his wrist and tug it back into the brunette’s lap. “Hey, don’t do that; you might make it worse.”

“Sorry,” The android said softly, slightly grimacing at the small throbbing pain inflicting his temple. “No, the pain isn’t inflicting me at an unbearable amount. If anything, it’s merely a dull, throbbing pain. I even ran a self-diagnostic, and I’ve detected no signs of cranial damage. Had you not attempted to stop me sooner, however, it would have been worse.”

The lieutenant nodded, firmly agreeing with the outputted statement as he began to gently dab the soaked rag on the bleeding gash, being mindful to not increase the pressure on his touches. He stopped as a brief image of Connor repeatedly driving his own face into the floor until he was lying in a pond of his own blood played through his mind, evoking a shudder from him. “I think it’s best that we just leave it at that.” He spoke up, carrying on with the current task at hand.

“That would be wise,” Connor murmured as he averted his gaze to the side, only to be instantly pulled away from his thoughts with a pained hiss at the cause of a rather sharp stab of pain directly at his wound. He clenched his jaw at the increased throbbing as Hank had all but pressed a thick sheet of cotton directly over the lesion.

“Shit. Sorry, Connor,” Hank was quick to amend the pressure he was unintentionally placing by easing the compression to where it was light while holding the padding against the wound.

“I-It’s okay; I’m okay,” The deviant insisted, wincing at the expense of the faint traces of the inflicted pain still lingering within his temple.

The tone—quiet and ill at ease—that came with the supposed reassurance elicited a quirked brow from Hank, who seemed to be anything other than thoroughly convinced. He could tell something was bothering his kid, and it wasn’t just the rawness of the head injury. “Alright, spill it.”

The imperative assertion drew an oblivious stare from the young man as he directed his gaze onto the elder’s. “…What?”

“Son, spare me the bullshit. The tone, the LED, and the sad puppy-dog look, which is a dead giveaway,” He clarified his reasoning by indicating to the marginally jutting lip the android had displayed. “You got all the signs—the signs that tell me something’s wrong. Hey,” He said calmly when he caught the brown orbs drifting away, coaxing him to look back at him by snapping his fingers twice. “look at me. You know you can tell me, right? Keeping that shit in isn’t gonna do you any good.”

“I’m… aware.”

Hank nodded and instructed the other to hold the cotton pad on the wound to enable him to bandage it sufficiently. He spared no time to wait and began to wrap the gauze around his head and at his forehead, holding one end at the side of it.

The RK800 gnawed his lip, indicating his hesitance to disclose his thoughts to his friend— _family_. As well as he knew that he was free to express his feelings and emotions, he just couldn’t brush off the apprehensive concept of burdening him with his own problems—these were  _his_  problems, not Hank’s. He shouldn’t have to-

“Connor?” The android’s eyes widened slightly as he was whisked from his own thoughts by the sound of Hank’s voice. “You  _know_  you can trust me.”

“…I know,” The young man sighed defeatedly as he found himself folding at the concern and genuine care that laced his tone, unconsciously drumming his thigh with the fingers of his unoccupied hand every now and then. “I guess… I didn’t foresee the probability of a snowstorm taking place in the movie. Seeing it took me back to the night of the uprising—the night… where I-I was… trapped in the Zen garden and almost didn’t escape… I-I-I was…  _scared_.”

No words left the human’s lips. His blue eyes grew glassy and soulful, almost ceasing the current task of nursing the other’s self-inflicted injury. The kid’s fear tore at his soul, and honest to God, it fucking  _hurt_.

“…I-I thought I was trapped in there all over again, only there was no emergency exit. So, I panicked, and I ran. Ran to the hardest surface I could find to bash my head into in hopes of escaping. And honestly, I’ve brought that upon myself. If I hadn’t picked the movie, that would have never happened. It was my fault.”

“The hell it was. Connor, you never even  _saw_  the movie before. You didn’t know.”

“And it was only a movie. I shouldn’t allow something as simple as a movie scene trigger fear-“

“ _Ah_!” Hank interjected quickly, putting a stop to his words with a brief hand signal akin to one a crossing guard would use to notify a stop. He resumed to hold the affixed gauze. “Let me make this clear. First, when I say that it’s not your fault, I mean that it’s not. Your. Fault. Second, you shouldn’t be raggin’ yourself for feeling scared. You’re not a machine anymore, Connor. You’re allowed to feel scared. Feeling fear is what makes us alive.”

A small smile tugged at the android’s lips from the mere citation. “And… I’m  _alive_ …”

“That you are,” He nodded and returned the favor by presenting him a smile of his own as he continued to clothe his forehead. Hank finalized the process after a few more rounds by securing the gauze with a patch of adhesive tape. “Alright, let me see your arm.”

“My arm…?” Connor paraphrased as he turned his right arm over to find the scuffed skin of his forearm, instantly recoiling as he recalled the marginal stinging pain from the incisions in which he had compelled upon himself. “Oh…”

Hank hummed and nodded in agreement as he gently grasped his wrist and laid his arm out with his forearm facing the ceiling. He retrieved the clammy tatter and proceeded to tenderly dab the wounds, picking up the blood that slowly leaked from the lacerations. “Y’know, we can put movie night on hold if you’re not up for it.”

“No, Hank,” Came the soft-spoken protest from the android’s lips. “We shouldn’t have to cancel it because of me.”

“Are you sure that you’re feeling okay?”

“Yes, I’m sure. We could just watch something else; that is, as long as there are no snowstorms in the film of choice.”

“Hmm…” The human murmured to himself in deep thought transitorily before glancing back to the deviant with a knowing grin. “How ‘bout some ‘ _Jurassic Park_ ’?”

Hearing the name of one of the films he (and Hank) favored most prompted a smile from the RK800’s face. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t object to ‘ _Jurassic Park_ ’.”

“Alright, now just sit tight, and I’ll get you patched up,” With that being said, Hank reinstated the entire bandaging process:

First, he carefully wiped the excess thirium; next came the dressing of the gauze, with a cotton sheet resting over the cuts; finally, when he had clothed the wounds, he took another strip of tape and secured the loose end of the bandage in place.

Afterwards, the android and the human retired back to the living room sofa, with Sumo following closely behind, who harked back to his original spot at corner near the television. The running list of cast members and various crews was enough to tell them that they had spent the remainder of the film confronting the attempted self-destruction, settling down with a moment of comfort, and tending to the damage the prototype had inflicted on himself. After a few minutes of scouring through his widespread film collection, Hank fished out the desired DVD and slipped the disc into the appropriate slot, starting the movie.

Subsequently, Hank returned to the couch and rejoined his android son, glancing at him with a kind smile. “I’m thinking of heading to the kitchen for some snacks. Any requests?”

As expected, Connor withdrew his focus from the television monitor and repaid his offer with a smile of his own. “Popcorn would suffice.”

“Coming right up,” The human male grunted as he rose from the couch and stretched, his bones cracking briefly before he departed to the kitchen.

From where he sat, Connor could easily detect the thudding of popping kernels ricocheting against a paper bag and the faint aroma of buttery goodness by the virtue of his advanced sensors. The waft began to escalate seconds later of the microwave’s high-pitched, patterned bleeps. The smell that grew closer had prompted the brunette to direct his gaze to his left, unearthing that the man was advancing to the couch, two bowls of virtually perfect popcorn piles in hand.

And so, the familial pair spent the remainder of the night by resuming their film viewing endeavor to the crack of dawn. Notwithstanding their fourth consecutive flick, which they had both drifted off to sleep—the RK800 deviant reclining against the human and letting his arms droop around the other’s waist, his body enfolded in a soft throw blanket, while the fatherly figure slumped back into the cushions behind him with a hand on the younger man’s head, his mouth agape as he nasally snored.


End file.
